Liberty Square
by Rubidia
Summary: At the head of the tiny village of Liberty Square lies the Gracey plantation, where the two Gracey children are creating quite a buzz. Only time will tell if they will be able to survive the romance, plotting, and adventure of the Civil War years.
1. Liberty Square

**A/N: I have started another Haunted Mansion fanfiction, inspired by my recent trip to Disney World! I'm really fond of this one so far, and I hope everyone enjoys it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Disney. **

Liberty Square, Florida was a sleepy little village that hardly even passed as a town at all. It mainly comprised of a few scrappy stores, a couple of cottages that lined the streets, and a weekend market that set up in the middle of the four intersecting streets. Beyond that was fields and farmland for miles around. The main attraction of the community was the great cotton plantation at the north end of town, which sat, as if it were placed at the head of a long table, gazing grandly around at all the lesser landmarks of Liberty Square.

All of the farmer's wives that gathered at the market once a week referred to it as 'that Gracey woman's place' when they shared in their favorite pastime, seeing who could get out the most whispered gossip before they had to dash off back to their fruit or vegetable stands in time to look busy when their husbands came round from inspecting a neighbor's new mare for pulling the plow, usually returning either pleased and proud or rather disgruntled, depending on how broke the horse was.

There were many rumors that floated around Liberty Square pertaining to the plantation owner, Mary Gracey, who lived in the manor house at the head of the plantation along with her two children, George and Charlotte. The plantation used to be run by Mr. Gracey, but seventeen years earlier, he had mysteriously disappeared over night. She had assured everyone (quite publically, in fact) that he had been called away for business in Europe, but that idea was quickly brought into question by Rusty Gates, an wizened old character quite known throughout the village for knowing things that he shouldn't. He gave a little tidbit of gossip to the tittering village women in exchange for some tobacco for his pipe, that Mrs. Gracey, who, up until that point, had recently been known as 'that poor widowed Mrs. Gracey', had actually taken an axe to Mr. Gracey's head. And since that day, mothers advised their children to keep far away from the Gracey place when they were playing in the village square, the grand, impressive house was looked upon with disdain and fear instead of awe and wonder, and Mrs. Gracey was christened 'that Gracey woman'.

However, seventeen years previously, George Gracey had been only four years old, and his younger sister two, and both were so well cared for and sheltered from the outside world, that it never occurred to them to question the tale of what had become of their father. They were brought up comfortably and were content to accept that their father had been kept abroad managing the affairs of their plantation. When their mother presented the idea that if he were to return, they might not be able to maintain their luxurious lifestyle, any ideas that may have wandered into their young minds were instantly chased away.

Now, that's not to say that George wasn't growing impatient and itching for some adventure outside of his life of fancy dinner parties and custom fitted suits. Over the years he had begun to grow weary of the grandeur, though he knew he was somewhat dependent upon it, which greatly frustrated him. There was tension building in their country, he knew that much. It was 1859, and James Buchanan's term as president was almost up. If a Republican president were to take office, it may mean trouble for their plantation, as those Northerners and Republicans seemed so against slavery. They couldn't even begin to understand how much the South depended on their slaves! Without them, their economy would literally shrivel and die away with the untended crops.

However fiercely George may have felt, though, he was not exactly pushing to get to the front of the line for getting enlisted in the army if war were to break out. He was not yet that desperate for adventure. What he was mainly interested in was traveling to find his father. He was now old enough to understand matters of the plantation, and he knew that if he could just get to his father, he could help get them out of their troubles and bring him home finally! Unfortunately, his dear mother would never even consider the notion. She would never allow her little boy to go all by himself abroad. It was rather irksome the way she babied him and his sister.

So for now, he would have to remain content gazing at the portrait of George Gracey, Sr. that hung in the foyer above the mantle. He was sure that Charlotte did the same.

George sighed as he stared out the window in the library as he drew himself out of his thoughts. For a moment he sullenly watched the slaves working out in the cotton fields, then pulled his eyes away from the sight and drug himself from the room. He was in desperate need for some company. He ambled down the hallway with the purple demask wallpaper and tall windows that were framed by lacy curtains that were usually open to allow sunlight to fill the space, and then past that wing of the house that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. He rarely ventured down there. It usually gave him a bit of a headache, and he wasn't really even sure what the purpose of building that wing of the house had been, since they generally just had guests stay in the hundreds of rooms that lined the elongated hall.

He finally reached his destination as he entered through the impressively carved archway that led onto the balcony above the ballroom. He sauntered down the curving staircase and wandered over to where his sister Charlotte, a thin little thing with curly red hair and the violently blue eyes that he shared with her, sat with their Aunt Melinda, who looked similar to their mother: dark brown eyes, a thick head of hair where you could just see a few strands left of the flaming red between all of the silver wisps, and a thin nose, but Aunt Melinda wore the look much more cheerfully, George often liked to think.

His sister and aunt were engaged in yet another wild dinner party at the long table that occupied the center of the ballroom. Charlotte was giggling and blushing towards a handsome young gentleman, who George ventured a guess to be Tom Clarke, the man Charlotte had recently taken a fancy to, and had chattered on about nonstop for the past three and a half weeks. George noticed with a hint of annoyance the smug look that was splashed across the man's face, as if he were used to receiving this sort of attention from girls at parties. George was still fighting the wave of brotherly protectiveness that had splashed over him when Aunt Mel noticed him standing at the foot of the stairs and called him over. He quickly donned a convincing smile and took the only remaining seat at the table left, next to Tom and across from an attractive young woman whom he had never met before. Aunt Mel, always trying to play matchmaker, hastened to introduce her to him.

"Oh, George, I don't believe you've met dear Margaret here, have you?" she asked as innocently as possible.

"No, I don't believe so," George replied, flashing his aunt a look. Melinda, however, was too busy enjoying herself to notice.

"Oh, Margaret, this is my dear nephew, George! He's a handsome lad, isn't he?" she tittered. George glared at her as fiercely as possible, but this just seemed to encourage the woman, for she pressed right on.

"Yes, I would say so," Margaret said with a giggle. George felt somewhat relieved when he noticed her porcelain cheeks had taken on a rosy little glow of embarrassment as well. When he actually gave her a good long look, she was really quite beautiful, he noted. She had sandy colored hair that was fashioned into ringlets around her heart shaped face, and a pretty little mouth that seemed to always have a little smile on it. But, he decided, her most lovely features were her wide, velvety brown eyes.

George caught himself staring at her when he noticed that his aunt was still talking, and vaguely understood her mentioning something about how Margaret was just visiting from Georgia, and how she'd be returning there in two days. George turned to look at his aunt in dismay, a crestfallen feeling settling in his stomach. Two days? But he suddenly wanted to know everything about her, to know who she was and what she was like! She couldn't be leaving the state in just two days!

George gave his head a little jerk to try and clear it. He had just met this girl not five minutes ago! Why was he acting like this? But he couldn't help but notice his own disappointment reflected in Margaret's eyes, and a flicker of hope was rekindled in his heart. Maybe she wanted to know him, too? He quickly mouthed to her: 'Meet me in the gardens?' and gave a little jerk of his head towards the door. She nodded once, then quickly hastened to join back in the conversation, but George was too elated to pay any attention to what everyone else was saying. He wished that this party would hurry up and be finished with, so that he could take his stroll with Margaret through the grounds.

After what seemed like years, the party guests began to excuse themselves from the table and head back towards their rooms to rest up for whatever festivities Melinda had planned for the next day. At last, only he and Margaret remained in the room, and he politely held out his arm for her to place her hand on, and they walked together back up the stairs and towards the awaiting moonlit gardens.


	2. Charlotte's Lament

**A/N: Can you tell I'm excited about this?! Second update in as many days!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Disney. I do own Tom Clarke, Charlotte Gracey, and Essie.**

Charlotte woke blearily from a fitful few hours of sleep. She enjoyed a few moments of peaceful oblivion until the events of the previous evening came crashing down back over her, and she promptly burst into tears. She had thought that Tom might have been the one! He had been so polite, and kind, and caring, and so cotton-picking handsome! She still wasn't fully aware of what had even gone wrong. Everything had seemed perfect, and he had taken her into the gardens after the party last night, and the moon was shining, and everything had been so romantic! But then, out of the clear blue sky, he had told her that he was leaving for Arkansas soon, and that they couldn't be together! She wasn't sure how she could even bear it!

Well, at least someone had a good time last night, she thought to herself bitterly. George and Margaret had been coming out to the gardens, giggling and chatting and gazing at each other, when she was going back inside. They were so absorbed in each other that they hadn't even noticed her running past, sobbing her heart out. Well, she hoped that they had a good time, and got married, and lived happily ever after in a little cottage by the sea for the rest of their days…She trailed off on these thoughts in a fresh fit of tears. She knew, deep down, that she should be happy for her older brother. After all, the closest he had ever gotten to a relationship was their cousin Emily batting her eyelashes at him from across the table every Christmas, but she couldn't bear to think of anyone else falling in love and getting married, and having their dreams come true, when her dreams had just been smashed to pieces by another dumb boy!

This has really happened to you too many times, Charlotte, she thought. Your only nineteen years old, after all. She wished now, more than ever, that her father was around to go and give all those boys a good talking too. She heard all the time from her cousin Emily that her father brought out the shotgun every time she started courting a boy, just to scare him into acting like a gentleman. Her father had never been around to do that for her. She often wondered whether George missed their father, too. Sometimes she saw him looking at the portrait of him that hung in the foyer, but she could never tell what he was feeling about it. Sometimes she suspected that he might be angry with their father for leaving them, but other times, she was sure that he was just as sad and confused as she was.

She sat up with a start when there was a knock on her bedroom door. She relaxed down back into her ample pillows when she saw that it was only Essie, her maid, come to dress her and prepare her for going down to breakfast. She nodded vaguely as the girl, only one year younger than she was herself, pulled out a soft green day dress and showed her a choice of accessories. Her mind was not on her clothing selection as much as it was on breakfast, and what she was going to do when she saw Tom there. She did suppose that it would help her cause to wear the dress that Essie had selected. It suited her skin tone perfectly, and the effect of its sloping shoulders made her waist look tiny. She sighed as Essie tugged at her hair with a comb. There would be so much more time left in the day if she could skip this tedious ritual. She did greatly enjoy looking beautiful and the effect it had on the men as she passed them, but she would enjoy it so much more if it didn't take two hours to accomplish.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she realized that Essie was trying to say something to her.

"Miss Charlotte? Miss Charlotte?" she was saying, a look of concern on her face, "Are you all right, Ma'am?" she asked.

"Wh-? Oh, yes, Essie, I'm fine, were you trying to say something to me?"

"Yes, Miss Charlotte, I was asking if you'd be needing your bonnet this fine sunny morning."

"Oh, yes, my bonnet…No, I don't think I'll be needing it, thank you, though, Essie," she replied, "Oh, and Essie, how many times have I told you to call me Charlotte? You've been my maid for nearly all of my life, you're one of my best friends! You don't need to bother with all of that 'Miss' nonsense, it makes me feel like an old woman."

Essie smiled at her.

"All right, Mis- erm, Charlotte," she complied.

"Essie, why don't you come down to breakfast with me this morning? I'm sure everyone would be delighted to meet you, you're such a charming girl!" Charlotte suggested. This was met with a look of shock on Essie's face.

"Me? Oh, I couldn't possibly, I'm just a maid!" she stuttered.

"Oh, nonsense, Essie, I'd like some company today. It seems Margaret's all wrapped up with that brother of mine, and, unless you count Aunt Melinda, the only other person there I'd have to talk to is that vulgar Tom Clarke. I despise that boy, you know," she added, the fierce look on her face daring Essie to mention how for the past week she'd come back to her rooms gushing about 'that handsome Tom Clarke', but Essie had too much sense to argue with her. Instead, she steered the conversation back towards her invite to breakfast.

"But, Ma'am-Charlotte, I wouldn't have anything suitable to wear!" she pointed out.

"Oh, hush, you can borrow one of my dresses, I'd say we're about the same size!" Charlotte said, shrugging off Essie's continued attempts to comb her hair and crossing over to the wardrobe. "Let's see, what shall you wear this morning?" she muttered to herself, paging through the large supply of day dresses that were hung up neatly in a row. "Oh! This one's perfect!" she squealed, pulling out a deep burgundy calico dress. "This will look just gorgeous on that dark skin of yours, you'll look beautiful!"

Essie looked rather dazzled by the dress in comparison to her own simple, patched up, black cotton uniform. Charlotte assisted her in putting on the hoops and crinoline, and tied her into a loose corset, finally pulling the dress over her head, and fastening the buttons. It felt nice to be doing something other than stand there being dressed, like she did every other morning. It felt satisfying to see Essie practically glowing when she observed her appearance in the mirror. She really did look quite lovely.

"Shall we head down to breakfast?" Charlotte asked, extending her arm. Essie linked her arm through it, a somewhat apprehensive look returning to her face. She nodded weakly, and they, for the first time in the eleven years that Essie had been Charlotte's maid, walked out the door and descended the stairs together.


	3. Breakfast

**A/N: Chapter three! I am so thrilled about this fic!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Disney. I do own Mama, and kind of own Ezra. I used the existing name, but, essentially, the character itself is original.**

Dazzled as she was by all of the breakfast party's grandeur, Essie could not deny that she felt extremely uncomfortable in the company of all of those fine and fancy white folks. They were ten times more refined than she was, from the way they talked to the way they daintily sliced away at their boiled eggs. She didn't hardly want to open her mouth for fear of saying something wrong, and yet, Charlotte seemed bent on dragging her forcibly into the conversation at every available opportunity. Essie only participated for her mistress's sake, for the only person who appeared to be having a rougher time than herself was Charlotte. Essie was well aware of the poor girl's frequent glances over at that Tom Clarke boy, only to quickly refocus her attention on her food, blushing slightly. When she laughed, it was a forced, shrill giggle that was much too loud to be natural, and Essie could only conclude that the poor dear had gotten her fragile little heart broken again, and was putting up quite a show to prove to everyone that she was just fine.

George, on the other hand, seemed quite oblivious to his sister's heartache, and was having a grand old time, chatting gleefully with a pretty young woman who Essie recognized to be Miss Margaret Livingston, another aristocratic friend of the Gracey clan from up in Arkansas. This in itself was an odd phenomenon, as George, though subjected to many a dinner party in his twenty one years, was not exactly the social centerpiece at a party, and could often be seen drinking a glass of scotch off in a dimly lit corner by himself, and it was even more strange that he seemed to have taken up a romantic interest in Margaret. Essie thought it to be rather poor timing for him to start pronouncing his entrance into the world of the socially adept, when his sister was currently a bit of an emotional wreck.

"So, Essie, dear," Charlotte's aunt Melinda said, causing Essie to jump with surprise, "Does your family work here, too?"

Essie glowed with embarrassment, and was for once glad for her dark, ebony skin, as it concealed her incessant blushing, but was a little touched by the fact that the all too visible rosiness had also crept onto Charlotte's cheeks.

"Well, my mother works in the kitchens, and my brother, Ezra, works out in the fields. My father…isn't employed here," Essie finished hurriedly. She didn't want to get into the story about how her father had been sold to a slave auction when she had been only seven years old.

"Oh, well, how lovely," Mel said warmly, who obviously hadn't noticed the tender spot that she had brushed upon. "All of you work so hard on this big old place, it's a blessing to have you all, we wouldn't ever be able to keep up with all of this work without you!"

Essie smiled politely as she had been raised to do, and the smile turned into one of relief when Charlotte hurriedly changed the subject. The rest of the breakfast went fairly smoothly, though Essie was greatly relieved when they were all dismissed to go about the rest of their morning after what seemed like hours of breakfast. She hurried away, and made a beeline to the dark, narrow servant's stairs that led to the kitchens, where she knew that her mother would already be slaving away on lunch. Unfortunately, she hadn't anticipated the look of shock that flashed across her mother's face when she was seen wearing a 'fancy rich girl's dress'.

"Good lord, girl, what are you wearin'?" the tired, aging woman exclaimed, "You better get that fine dress away from these pots and pans," she added, waving her away from the simmering food.

"Miss Charlotte had me accompany her to breakfast this morning, Mama," Essie explained meekly, "She seemed like she was needin' some company,"

"What, with all them rich folk to chat with?" Mama asked incredulously.

"I seem to think that Mr. Tom Clarke has broke the poor girl's heart," Essie said.

"Don't you go sayin' thing like that in front of your Mistress, or she might well just have someone whip your hide, girl," Mama warned, but before she could respond, her brother Ezra flew in through the kitchen door that led to the rest of the plantation.

"Oh, good lord, boy, you're gonna give this old woman a heart attack any day now!" Mama said, clutching her heart.

"Sorry, Mama," Ezra said, grinning devilishly.

"Boy, what are you doin up here, anyhow?" Mama scolded, "If they find out you were up here, they'll whip your hide!"

"Nah, Mama, I'm supposed to take Miss Charlotte for a ride on her pony this afternoon, they gave me the day off from the fields," Ezra said.

"Well, you consider yourself lucky, boy," Mama warned, waving her knife at him. Ezra usually got off easier than the rest of the young men who worked the fields, because he was so talented with the plantation's horses. Equine was what Ezra truly loved.

Ezra gave a whistle when he noticed Essie's dress.

"Well, girl, look at you, all spiffed up!" Ezra said. Next to horses, teasing his younger sister was Ezra's second favorite thing to do. "Are you going to some fancy party today?"

"No, I already did," Essie said defiantly, sticking up her chin.

"Her mistress asked her to join her at breakfast this morning," Mama jumped in before they could get started at each other again.

"Well, getting friendly with them rich white folk now?" Ezra mocked.

"Now, you watch your tongue boy," Mama warned. "Don't you have a pony to tack up?" she added when she noticed the fierce look on Essie's face.

Ezra grudgingly abandoned the enticing smells in the kitchen, giving Essie a final teasing look before heading over to the stables. Essie felt the steam rolling out of her as she watched his retreating figure through the tiny window, and, newly rejuvenated from her visit with her family, bid goodbye to her mother and departed to Charlotte's rooms to return the day dress and prepare her mistress for riding.


	4. Cruel Love

For George Gracey, the past day and a half had been the best of his life. But instead of feeling cheered, he began to sense a creeping dread growing within him. Margaret left for Arkansas early the next morning, and he could barely stand to set out for another stroll in the garden with her, as he knew that when they again reached the garden gates, they would have to say goodbye to each other for good.

The manor house seemed unusually quiet as he meandered down the hall towards the French doors to the veranda. Strange, for that time of day. It was almost as if someone had died. He tried to chase that thought from his mind, but couldn't help but follow the train of thought that it brought him to: _What if I never get to see her again…What if I die before the next of Aunt Mel's weekend escapades? What if letting her leave will cause my soul to shrivel and die, leaving me an empty shell?_

Before he knew it, he had arrived at the veranda. Margaret stood waiting, with her back to the doors. He approached her quietly. When he was about a foot and a half away from her, he heard the stifled sound of her gently crying. He took a sharp intake of breath, which caused her to abruptly turn. There were tears cascading from her eyes, which were beginning to grow red and puffy. His heart broke at the sight, and he realized, for the first time in his life, that he was in love with a girl. He had never expected this moment to come. He had always considered himself rather socially awkward, and tended to make people feel uncomfortable around him. But now, he was in love with this girl, whom he had met not two days ago. This girl who he thought was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, even with a tear-stained, swollen face.

"Margaret," he whispered weakly.

And before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, he was kissing her. He was kissing the girl of his dreams, who he'd fallen in love with, and she wasn't pulling away. She was kissing him back. And of all of the things that could have been going through his head, the only one he could identify was 'I've never kissed a girl before'. After several long moments, they slowly drew apart. She was staring at him with wide, wet eyes, and her lips were slightly parted.

"I…" she whispered. And then she ran away.

"Margaret?" yelled after her, "Margaret!"

But she was already gone, disappeared into the midst of the towering rose bushes. He could have slapped himself. His first love, who was soon leaving, and he ruined everything. She would never forgive him. She would hate him forever, and never speak to him again. And yet, he still wasn't quite sure what had just happened between them. In love was a complicated place to be.

***

Margaret dropped to the ground, dully aware but not in the least bit concerned that she was ruining her dress. There were several leaves in her hair from crashing into some bushes as she tore away from…where it happened. She screamed at herself internally. She knew that she couldn't do this. She had known it from the beginning. But he had seemed so nice. And she had consoled herself that they would only be friends. How would she have known that she'd end up…But no. She couldn't form the words, even in her head. To think those words would, she knew, make her realize how absolutely true that they were.

She was so stupid! Why did she always do things like this to herself? Why did she insist on taunting herself, daring herself not to get into trouble again? She knew what she had to do. And she would just have to live with it. There was no changing the past, and no changing her future. So why did she have to do such a fantastic job of mucking up the present? She had to bite her fist not to cry out when she allowed herself to think upon what she knew must be done. Tomorrow, she would leave, back to Arkansas, and everything would be as it should. She just had to deny herself the privilege of saying goodbye, because she knew that if she said those two words, she would never be able to leave.

***

Ezra found himself undeservedly happy as he led Charlotte's pony, Horatio, out into the shadowy hall of the aging barn. As he tied the horse's halter to a rope on the wall, Charlotte made her entrance, trailed by his sister, Essie. She really took her responsibility's too seriously he thought with a twinge of bitterness, but, to his immense pleasure, Charlotte dismissed her to return to the manor house, and he caught a shy glance from her as Essie unwillingly returned from whence she came.

"Hello, Miss Charlotte," he said in a voice that was much too familiar for his station.

"Hello, Ezra," she replied without batting an eyelash.

"I hope you're well?" he asked politely to make up for it as he pulled a saddle down from the shelf and prepared to hoist it onto the pony's back.

"Yes, thank you," she said, a tad disappointed. "Here, let me do that," she said abruptly when he returned to tacking Horatio.

"Really, Miss, it's no problem at all, I'll have him tacked in a moment," Ezra objected.

"No, this is silly, I've watched you do this a hundred times, I have my own two hands, I should learn to use them," she said, employing a voice that said plain as day, 'I'm a Gracey, now don't try to stand in my way, because it'll do you no good'.

He relented, and carefully placed the saddle into her outstretched arms, which sank several inches at the hefty weight of it.

"Are you sure you want to do it yourself?" he asked.

"Yes," she said a small smile creeping onto her lips, "In fact, I insist."


End file.
